Snowbound With My Grumpy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Devon

I slumped in the old armchair, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Each jagged line felt like a taunt, a reminder of everything I’d lost. The sound of Bella rummaging through the kitchen drifted in, punctuated by her occasional humming.

My phone buzzed. My best friend and fellow ski fanatic Liam’s name flashed across the screen. I groaned, bracing myself for the inevitable lecture. Why had I texted him that Bella was here? Temporary insanity. Clearly.

“Hey, mate. I got your message. Snowed in with your ex. Who’s a blogger? Dude, it’s like you hit the jackpot.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. “What are you talking about? ‘Hit the jackpot’? I came here to escape, but instead, I’ve stumbled into some alternate universe with my ex wanting to turn the guesthouse into a Winter Wonderland.”

“Oh, come on. This is a golden opportunity, Devon. Think about it—she’s going to decorate the place for free, and her blog could give you some positive PR. Which we both know you really need. It’s a win-win.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then paused. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. A well-timed viral post could drum up interest in the guesthouse. And get people focused on something other than my spectacular wipeout.

“Fine,” I muttered, more to myself than Liam. “I’ll consider it. But only because it might help sell the place faster.”

“That’s the spirit. Now go make some content, superstar.”

I hung up without saying goodbye. My jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. This wasn’t for Bella. It wasn’t for some stupid blog. It was for the sale. For closure. For being done with Serenity Falls.

At least, that’s what I kept repeating as I stomped towards the kitchen.

The scene that greeted me was pure chaos. Every surface was covered in baking supplies, craft materials, and what looked like the entire contents of my junk drawer. Bella stood in the middle of it all, phone set up on a tripod, beaming like she’d won the lottery.

“Look what I found!” she chirped, holding up a dusty gingerbread house kit. “We could have a contest. You know, for the blog.”

I eyed the mess warily, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Pass,” I grunted, turning to leave.

“Oh, come on, Devon,” Bella coaxed. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Buried under six feet of snow, along with my dignity,” I muttered.

A small giggle escaped from Bella’s lips. It stirred something in my chest that I quickly shoved aside. “Just one house,” she pleaded. “For old times’ sake?”

I don’t know if it was the pleading look in her green eyes or the remembered sound of Liam’s voice, but I found myself grudgingly reaching for a tube of icing. “Fine. One house. But I’m not smiling for your camera.”

That was all it took. Bella’s grin widened as she hit record. “Welcome back, everyone! Today, we have a special guest...”

I tuned out her cheerful intro, focusing on the icing tube in my hand. How hard could this be? I squeezed gently. Nothing. Frowning, I applied more pressure—still nothing. Frustrated, I gripped it with both hands and squeezed hard.

A glob of sugary cement exploded from the tube, completely missing the gingerbread and splattering across my shirt. “Son of a—“

“And cut!” Bella laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we just found our blooper reel.”

I glared at her, trying to wipe the sticky mess off my clothes. “Glad I could provide some entertainment,” I growled.

A sudden movement caught my eye. Maple ran into the kitchen, nose twitching as the smell of gingerbread hit her. Before I could react, the dog lunged for a fallen piece of cookie.

“Maple, no–!”

But it was too late. She crashed into Bella’s leg, sending her stumbling. The half-constructed gingerbread roof in her hands crumbled, showering us both in a hailstorm of cookie shrapnel.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, covered in icing and cookie dust. Then, to my surprise, a chuckle escaped me. Bella’s eyes widened, then crinkled with laughter.

“Some things never change,” she gasped between giggles. “Remember that time in high school when we tried to make a gingerbread village for the bake sale?”

I did remember. It had ended in a similar disaster, but we’d easily laughed it off back then. We’d been so carefree, so... in love.

The thought sobered me instantly. “That was a long time ago,” I said gruffly, turning back to my sad excuse for a gingerbread house.

We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft clink of candy and Bella’s occasional narration for her video. I hated how natural it felt, how easily we’d fallen back into a rhythm.

“Why am I even doing this?” I muttered, more to myself than her.

Bella paused, a gumdrop halfway to her roof. “Because it’s fun,” she said softly. “And maybe because part of you missed this.”

I opened my mouth to make a snarky remark, but a sharp knock at the front door cut me off. We exchanged puzzled glances. Who could be out in this weather?

“I’ll get it,” I grumbled, wiping my hands on my jeans as I headed for the door. I yanked it open, ready to tell whoever it was to go away.

Instead, I found myself face-to-face with Mrs. Hawthorne, my nosy neighbor and our former high school principal. She was bundled up in the most outrageous holiday sweater I’d ever seen. Reindeer with LED lights for their noses, elves with googly eyes, and a big Santa face whose beard was made of actual cotton balls.

“Devon, dear!” she exclaimed, her breath visible in the frigid air. “I thought I saw lights on. May I come in? I’ve brought cookies!”

I stood there, momentarily stunned. “Mrs. Hawthorne? How did you—“

She beamed, gesturing behind her. “Oh, with my new all-terrain vehicle, of course! It’s perfect for checking on neighbors during a blizzard.”

I leaned out and spotted the strange contraption parked in the driveway. It looked like a cross between a snowmobile and a golf cart, with oversized treads instead of wheels.

“I didn’t even know they made those,” I muttered, reluctantly stepping aside to let her in. “Come in before you freeze.”

Mrs. Hawthorne bustled past me, shaking snow from her boots. “Is that gingerbread I smell?”

I groaned inwardly as I followed her to the kitchen and sat back down, staring at my lopsided gingerbread house. This was going to be interesting.

“Decorating for the holidays, I see,” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between us. “I didn’t realize you had company. Are you two staying warm in here with all that snow outside?” She looked around the kitchen. “It seems very cozy.”

This was not my idea of cozy—more like awkward and tense. “Yeah, cozy,” I grumbled, focusing intently on attaching a crooked candy cane to my roof.

Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. I could feel her matchmaking gears turning, and my jaw clenched involuntarily.

“I always knew you two would end up back here together,” she said, walking over to set the tray of cookies on the counter.

I glanced at Bella, catching the flush creeping up her cheeks. My face felt warm, and I shifted uncomfortably. This was precisely what I didn’t need—more complications, more reminders of the past.

“We’re not ‘together,’” I muttered, my voice low and tense. “We’re just... working on a blog.”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s knowing smile only widened. “Well, whatever you say, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”

I watched Mrs. Hawthorne’s retreating form, my fingers absently crushing a gumdrop. “Does she ever quit? I swear she’s got some radar for uncomfortable situations.”

“Oh, come on,” Bella teased, her green eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell me the great Devon Montgomery is scared of a little old lady and her matchmaking schemes.”

I snorted, ignoring how my stomach flipped at her playful tone. “Please. I’ve faced down double black diamond slopes. Mrs. Hawthorne is... a bunny hill, at best.”

“Uh-huh,” Bella said, unconvinced. She reached across the counter, snagging one of Mrs. Hawthorne’s cookies. “A bunny hill that’s got you more flustered than your gingerbread catastrophe.”

I wanted to argue, but the words died on my tongue because, darn it, she wasn’t entirely wrong. The realization was more unsettling than any nosy neighbor or failed gingerbread house could ever be.

I stared at the lopsided walls of my gingerbread house, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Why do you even care about this blog so much?” The words came out harsher than I intended, half-mumbled but loud enough for Bella to hear.

Her narration for the camera stopped abruptly as she turned the phone off, and I could feel her eyes on me. I didn’t dare look up.

“I said I’d help,” I continued, my voice gruff. “But don’t expect me to pretend I’m having fun.”

The silence that followed was deafening. When I finally mustered the courage to glance at Bella, I caught a flicker of hurt in her eyes before she masked it with a neutral expression.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” she said quietly, focusing intently on her perfectly constructed gingerbread house. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, adding delicate icing details to the roof. “You don’t have to help. I’m sorry I pushed.”

I winced inwardly, hating how cold I sounded. But I couldn’t bring myself to apologize or soften my words. Instead, I just sat there, watching Bella from the corner of my eye as she began to clean up. Her auburn hair was coming loose from its messy bun, a few wayward strands framing her face.

“You missed a spot,” I grunted, pointing to a glob of icing on the counter.

Bella raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with a hint of challenge. “Oh? I thought you weren’t helping.”

I scowled, grabbing a cloth and wiping the counter myself. “I’m not. Just... pointing out the obvious.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Same old Devon. You always want to have the last word, don’t you?”

“I do not,” I retorted, then immediately winced at how childish I sounded.

Bella’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Of course not. My mistake.”

I watched as she continued tidying up, her movements graceful and efficient. Memories of us baking cookies in this very kitchen years ago flooded back. The laughter, the stolen kisses, the feeling that we had our whole lives ahead of us...

No. I couldn’t let myself go down that road. I needed to stay focused. Stick to the plan. I wasn’t about to let old feelings—or Bella—get in the way.

“So,” I said, desperate to break the silence and my traitorous thoughts. “What’s next on your grand holiday makeover agenda?”

Bella’s eyes lit up, and I immediately regretted asking. “Well, since you’re offering,” she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, “I was thinking we could rearrange the living room. You know, create a cozier space for the holidays.”

I groaned inwardly. What had I gotten myself into? “Fine,” I muttered. “But we’re not moving the couch. It’s perfect where it is.”

“Afraid of a little manual labor?” Bella teased, already heading for the living room. “Come on, those muscles aren’t just for show, are they?”

“I don’t show off,” I protested weakly, following her. “I’m practical.”

Bella just laughed, surveying the room with a critical eye. “Sure, Mr. Practical. Now make yourself useful and help me move this armchair.”

“A little to the left,” she instructed a few strenuous minutes later, stepping back to assess. “No, my left. Your other left, Devon.”

I grunted, shifting the chair again. “Most people just say ‘right’ in that situation.”

Bella grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I couldn’t stop the little smile that crept onto my face, despite my best effort to maintain my grumpy facade.

We pushed, pulled, and pivoted furniture around the living room for the next hour. Bella’s vision of the space slowly came to life, transforming the once-cluttered room into something cozy. Well, cozy wasn’t exactly the word I’d use, but it did look better.

“Okay,” Bella said, stepping back and surveying our handiwork. “I think we’ve got it.”

I wiped my brow, surprised to find myself sweating. “Finally. I was starting to think you were going to have us rearrange the whole house.”

Bella laughed and her eyes lit up. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve got plenty of ideas…”

I cut her off. “Well, you can do whatever you want. I’m going to sit here and test out the new furniture arrangement.”

“Fine, Mr. Humbug. I’ll go spread my cheer away from you.” She spun on her heel, walked over to one of the Christmas boxes from the attic, and started digging around.

As I plopped down on the couch, I couldn’t decide if I wanted the storm to hurry and pass or if I hoped it lasted a few more days.